


The Day Of The Giant Pumpkin

by ephemeralblossom



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Banter, F/M, Friendly Rivalry, Gen, Identity Porn, Plans, Plans That Go Wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-22 08:20:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12477316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeralblossom/pseuds/ephemeralblossom
Summary: A giant pumpkin appears in Martha and Mickey's back garden. On their day off, no less.





	The Day Of The Giant Pumpkin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NancyBrown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NancyBrown/gifts).



Martha looked at the pumpkin. It looked back at her.

“Giant pumpkin. Back garden. _Our_ back garden. And you know the worst bit?”

She sighed, not taking her eyes off the pumpkin. “What?”

“It’s our day off.”

“Well,” Martha said, advancing on the pumpkin in all due caution, “next time a pumpkin the size of a football goal appears in our back garden, I’ll be sure and tell it to come back during business hours.”

Mickey’s answering laughter stopped abruptly when the side of the pumpkin opened and a woman who looked like a madcap Mary Poppins stepped out. “Hello,” she said, brightly. “I come in – oh look, it’s Saint Martha. Long time no see, Martha Jones.”

The hair on Martha’s neck stood on end. The last time someone had called her Saint Martha – but it couldn’t be. He’d died. She’d _seen_ him die. Coincidence. Had to be. (Though in her line of work, Martha distrusted all coincidences.) “How do you know me?”

“Oh, Martha, Martha,” the woman said, pursing her lips in a mockingly sad face. “So forgetful. I’m wounded to the heart. How’s Tish these days? Francine?”

Mickey was very still next to her. Martha could hear his breathing, even as her own shortened. “You’ve changed your face,” she said, keeping her voice as flat and neutral as she could. However he’d managed it, this was the Master. She knew it.

“Between you and me, the last one was a bit chancy,” the Master said, smiling in an unhinged way. “How do you like the new look?”

“Martha,” Mickey said, “that woman just walked out of that pumpkin. Did you put something hallucinogenic in the eggs this morning?”

Martha ignored him. “What do you want?”

“Well,” the Master said, elaborately casual, “you wouldn’t believe me if I told you this was just a pit stop. So, hmm, would you believe me if I told you I was here to take over the world?”

“Yes,” Martha said. 

“Martha, really. Is this a joke?” Mickey started towards the pumpkin. “Hi, I’m Mickey. Are you one of Martha’s friends from med school?”

The Master stared at him as if she hadn’t noticed he was there before, and then smiled, a supremely self-satisfied smile, like a cat who’s just seen the flicker of a mouse’s tail. 

“Imogen! You’re Imogen! She always said you were a great prankster – ”

The Master’s hand shot out and fastened around Mickey’s bicep. “Hello,” she purred at him. “I’m Missy. You must be Martha’s pet.”

“I’m Martha’s husband,” Mickey said, looking confused. “Why are you pointing an umbrella at me? It’s not raining.”

Martha took a careful step forward. “Missy,” she said. Stupid name. “Let him go. Whatever your business is with me, he doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

Missy tsked. “You know me better than that.” Her voice was almost gentle, honey before the strike of a knife. “Different face, same me. I think a hostage is an excellent idea. Come inside the pumpkin, dear. I’ll make you quite comfortable.”

Martha knew the unspoken coda was _as long as Martha does what I want_. “Why don’t you go conquer a different world for a change?”

“Oh, I have,” Missy said, propelling Mickey towards the pumpkin. “But this one’s special. There’s all you lot running around, the ones he leaves behind. You know enough to be interesting, but not enough to be dangerous. It’s delightful.”

“I’m not going to sacrifice the world to save him, Missy. I can get another husband.”

“Wha?” Mickey swivelled his head, a wounded look on his face. “Martha!”

Missy pushed him inside the pumpkin, none too gently. “Well, I’ll just give you some time to think about that, shall I? While we’re waiting, remember what the last me did to the Doctor. Want to watch me do it to your little loverboy?”

Of course Martha remembered. Sometimes she still woke up in a cold sweat, convinced she was back in the Year that Never Was. “Give him back and leave this planet.”

“Or what?” Missy said, cocking her head to one side, an eyebrow raised in elegant scepticism. “I hate to break it to you, love, but the Doctor isn’t here right now for you to bleat for help.”

“I didn’t bleat for help before,” Martha said. “I saved the Doctor, he didn’t save me. And I’m going to save my husband.”

Missy made a pitying face. “And how exactly do you plan to do that? You’re standing in your back garden in your slippers.”

“I work for UNIT,” Martha said. “It’s our job to protect the Earth from aliens. Like you. Especially you.”

“How nice to feel special,” Missy said, sketching a little regal half-nod. 

“Your file is one of the most extensive in our records,” Martha continued. “We have notes on every time you’ve trespassed on the Earth’s sovereignty, and full details of every one of your plans. There are people who are writing their PhDs on you, right now. Secretly, of course. Officially you don’t exist. But UNIT remembers.”

“Bored now,” Missy said, though Martha could see the satisfied smirk around the corner of her mouth. This one liked a show, liked to be admired. She remembered the spectacle, the vast insanity of the plan to put the Master’s face on every human on Earth. 

“UNIT will stop you,” Martha said. “The only file bigger than yours is the Doctor’s.”

The smirk vanished. “Well, I suppose that will come in handy if he ever attacks you.”

“We take no chances,” Martha said. “The Earth must be protected.”

Missy stared at her, eyes hard. “There’s just one problem with your plan.”

“Yes?”

“UNIT doesn’t know I’m here. If you try to call them, I’ll kill you.”

Martha nodded. “True. But that’s not my plan.”

Missy levelled her umbrella at Martha. “Tell me.”

“Oh,” Martha said, keeping her eyes on Missy’s face. “My plan? To keep you talking.”

Missy looked confused for a split second, and then froze.

“Sorry it took a little while,” Mickey said, conversationally. “Found a loo and a ballroom before the armoury.”

The gun he held to Missy’s temple looked more familiar than a lot of space guns Martha had seen, but it was still visibly Not of This World. They’d have to take it in to Nish in Weaponry tomorrow and see what he could make of it. (Then fill out of reams of paperwork, curses, but Martha had resigned herself to reams of paperwork as soon as she saw the giant pumpkin in her back garden.)

Martha smiled at Missy. “My husband’s not just decorative.”

After her initial surprise, Missy looked more relaxed than Martha had expected. “You won’t hurt me. The Doctor wouldn’t approve.”

“The Doctor isn’t here,” Martha said, pleasantly. “The way I see it, you’re a war criminal. UNIT had you in custody once – we’d be glad to have you back again.”

Missy scowled. “What’s the thing you humans say? Over my dead body?”

“That could be arranged,” Mickey said. He knew Martha’s stories. He’d held her when she woke from the nightmares.

“After all,” Martha observed, “you don’t stay dead. Obviously. I’m sure UNIT would be happy to supervise your regeneration.”

What Missy would have done next, Martha never knew for sure. Cornered predators were always the most dangerous. But as it happened, she never found out. 

The sound of the Doctor’s TARDIS materialising was loud in their enclosed back garden, and Missy’s nostrils flared. “ _He_ won’t let you turn me over to UNIT,” she said, loftily. 

Martha wasn’t entirely sure about that, though neither was she sure why the TARDIS had chosen today of all days to pay them a visit. Perhaps the Doctor really could sense when the Master was in danger, and had come to rescue her. She’d seen his tears and devastation when the Master died in his arms, even after everything the Master had done to him and to the Earth. However twisted and destructive their relationship was, it was still important to him. She and Mickey might end up arguing with two Time Lords at once, and she hadn’t even had her morning coffee yet.

The TARDIS door opened, and a strange woman walked out.

Martha blinked - today was steadily becoming weirder – but pulled herself together. If the Master could change genders, she supposed the Doctor could too. “Missy landed here, declared that she was going to conquer the planet, and took Mickey hostage. I know she’s your – friend, but you have to let me hand her over to UNIT.”

“Missy,” the Doctor said, a broad smile on her face. 

“Tell this human to put the Tiloxian phaser down before he blows us all to smithereens,” Missy said, grumpily.

“Nice try,” Mickey said. 

The Doctor looked at the gun. “No, she’s right. That’s about to go critical if you don’t take your finger off the trigger. Where did you get one of those, Missy? I thought the Emperor had destroyed them all when xe outlawed them.”

“All of them except one,” Missy said, preening a little, even though Mickey hadn’t obeyed yet. “They’re works of art. I know you don’t appreciate my collection, but –”

“Oh, try me,” the Doctor said. “I’ve heard so much about it. Is it true that you have a Maztzyan icebomb?”

Martha interrupted what sounded suspiciously like flirting. ( _Why_ the Doctor was attracted to a megalomaniacal evil mastermind, she really didn’t want to think too much about.) “Look, if you want to continue this conversation, you can do it after we turn her over to UNIT custody.”

“Nope,” the Doctor said, cheerfully. “Not happening.”

Missy looked surprised, though she quickly hid it. “I told you, Martha.”

“She’s come to conquer the planet, Doctor! We have a right to defend ourselves from aliens, including Time Lords.”

The Doctor crossed her arms. She looked like she was thoroughly enjoying herself. “First of all, your right to defend yourself from aliens only applies if they’re attacking you. She landed her TARDIS in your back garden. If landing a TARDIS on your planet qualifies as attacking you, well…” She gestured towards her own TARDIS. “Why doesn’t UNIT take me into custody?”

“At least half of UNIT thinks we should,” Martha said, candidly.

The Doctor smiled. “Second, she’s not here to conquer the planet. She just said that because she’s a show-off and she likes the way it sounds.” Missy glowered at her. “Sorry, dear, it’s true.”

“Then what _does_ she want?” Mickey said.

The Doctor pointed at the pumpkin, a look of professional concentration on her face. “Her TARDIS is a giant pumpkin. Do you honestly think that’s what it normally looks like?”

Martha, who was used to a time-and-space-travelling phone box, hadn’t really given that any thought. “I never saw the Master’s TARDIS before.”

“Well, it doesn’t usually look like that,” the Doctor said. “She’s having trouble with the chameleon circuit, but more importantly, her last ridiculously overcomplicated plan led to her TARDIS becoming disoriented. It tried to find the nearest available Time Lord energy, and you and Mickey still have Vortex scent on you. It never really goes away.”

“How did you know all that?” Missy said, sounding a mix between outraged and cross. “And my plans are excellent, not ridiculous.”

“Not going to quarrel with overcomplicated?”

Missy looked down her nose at her. “I like overcomplicated.”

Martha interrupted them again. “Her TARDIS brought her here?”

The Doctor nodded. “I doubt Missy had much say in the matter. Ours never really listens to us. TARDISes tend to have a mind of their own.”

“Well,” Martha said. It seemed unfair to turn the Master over to UNIT if she hadn’t intended to invade Earth ( _this_ time, anyway). Though when she remembered the Year that Never Was, she could almost do it anyway.

“Even if she wasn’t here to take over Earth this time,” Mickey said, echoing Martha’s thoughts, “she’s a war criminal. It’s our job to hand her over.”

“You’ll have to go through me,” the Doctor said, still pleasantly smiling.

“Why?” Martha asked. (Missy looked as if she would like to know too.)

“Because I know what it’s like to be imprisoned,” the Doctor said, her voice suddenly with a backbone of steel.

Mickey looked at Martha.

Martha sighed, and rubbed the bridge of her nose with her index finger. She wasn’t about to get in a fight with the Doctor, and if the Tiloxian phaser in Mickey’s hand was really about to blow them all to bits, it looked like a standoff. “All right.”

Mickey let the phaser fall to his side, but spurned Missy’s imperiously held-out hand. “If it’s all the same to you, I think _I’ll_ keep the gun,” he said, politely, and came over to stand by Martha again.

“How did you know about my TARDIS?” Missy asked the Doctor.

“And how did you magically show up here at this exact moment?” Martha added.

The Doctor turned her palms up. “I showed up now because Missy’s TARDIS called for help,” she said. “I was actually in the middle of something, so it was quite inconvenient, but the TARDIS is a bit of a softy, and she insisted.” She smiled at Missy. “They’re talking to each other right now, so the disorientation should be sorted in a minute or two.”

“That’s how you knew what was wrong,” Missy said, though she seemed distracted. There was a furrow between her brows. 

“No, I knew what was wrong because my timeline isn’t entirely linear,” the Doctor said. “I’ve heard the story before.”

“I _told_ you about the time my TARDIS was a giant pumpkin?” Missy’s eyes narrowed further. “That doesn’t sound like me, darling.”

“Oh no, that was Himself,” the Doctor said, her smile broadening. “He showed me the picture.”

“What picture?” Mickey asked, as Martha demanded, “Himself?”

“This picture,” the Doctor said, whipping out a mobile phone and snapping a picture of Missy in front of her pumpkin TARDIS, a mounting look of outrage on her face. She slipped the phone back in her pocket, beaming angelically at Missy, and then turned to Martha. “Oh, did I not get to ‘thirdly’ earlier? I thought I did. Thirdly, I’m not the Doctor.”

Three faces stared at her in various states of confusion.

“I knew it!” Missy said. 

Mickey raised the Tiloxian phaser again, levelling it at a point midway between Missy and the strange woman who’d waltzed into their back garden in the Doctor’s TARDIS. 

“Who are you?” Martha asked, her voice hard.

“Spoilers,” the woman said, and laughed. “Oh, put the gun down. I haven’t killed him or anything so sordid. I just borrowed the TARDIS for a little bit. I’ll put her back when I’m done.”

“Borrowed the TARDIS,” Missy said, thoughtfully. “And you liked the idea of my armoury. If you’ve heard stories, so have I.”

“Can you put a name to the face?” the woman asked, her eyes dancing.

Martha was pretty sure they were flirting. In front of the Doctor’s TARDIS and a giant pumpkin TARDIS. In Martha’s back garden. On her day off. 

Mickey said in an undertone, “Do you want to make the call?”

“Oh, don’t bother,” the strange woman said. Her hearing must be good. “We’ll be out of your hair before UNIT shows up. I promise I won’t let her kill anyone today.”

“Not even one?” Missy said. “Spoilsport.”

“Who is she?” Martha asked Missy. 

Somewhat to her surprise, Missy actually answered. “I think,” she said, a smile hovering around the corner of her mouth, “that she’s Professor River Song.”

“At your service,” the woman said. “And I do want to see your armoury.”

Behind them, the giant pumpkin dematerialised, and rematerialised as a demure column. Missy’s shoulders suddenly seemed less tense. “Shall we meet on the Moon?” she asked Professor Song. “I would be delighted to show my collection to a fellow connoisseur.”

“Not in our Solar System,” Martha said. They could share their etchings somewhere other than Martha’s back garden, either literal or figurative. “I don’t want you accidentally blowing up Earth, thanks.”

“Roanoke Three?” Professor Song suggested. “There’s a lovely restaurant there. My treat.”

“It’s a date,” Missy said, with an exaggerated wink.

“Bye, kids,” Professor Song said, waving at Martha and Mickey. “Oh, I’ll be taking that.” She beckoned, and the Tiloxian phaser sailed out of Mickey’s hand and across the intervening space into hers. “Insurance to make sure you show up,” she said to Missy. “Plus we can’t leave it with this lot, there’d be no Earth left. You know that’d make him sulk. _And_ you wouldn’t be able to threaten the planet anymore to bring him running.”

Missy’s smile had a wicked tinge to it. “See you on Roanoke Three, Professor Song.” A door appeared in her column, and then she was gone, her TARDIS dematerialising almost before she’d stepped inside. 

Professor Song turned to go as well, but Martha stepped forward. “Wait!”

Professor Song stopped.

“I’ve heard stories about you too,” Martha said. “Even on Earth, there are echoes. Some say you’re the Doctor’s wife. Some say you’re his murderer.”

“And what do you think I am?” Professor Song said, her voice curious.

Martha was always truthful. “I don’t know. And am I supposed to let you fly away in the Doctor’s TARDIS, when for all I know his body is lying dead in there?”

“You’re welcome to look around,” Professor Song said. “Do you think the TARDIS would let me fly her if I was the Doctor’s murderer?”

“She let the Master fly her when he abandoned us on Malcassairo.”

Professor Song was silent for a minute. “The last thing he said to you,” she said, finally, “was to tell you to destroy the Osterhagen key. He smiles when he tells that story. You saved Earth from the Master, and you saved it again by destroying the key. He’s very proud of you, Martha.”

“You could have learned that from his records,” Martha said stubbornly, although she knew in her bones that Professor Song was telling the truth. She was someone the Doctor told stories to. Trusted. Why was Martha’s stomach suddenly a little hollow?

Professor Song sighed. “Well. Technically I shouldn’t, but…” She pulled out the mobile phone again and fiddled with it for a moment, then handed it to Martha. “Ask him.”

Martha put the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

An unfamiliar Scottish voice came through. “River, where’s my TARDIS?”

“Doctor?” Martha said. 

The voice sharpened. “How did you get this phone? Where’s River? If you’ve hurt her, I’ll –”

“I’m right here, sweetie,” Professor Song said. “Martha thinks I stole your TARDIS and am toting your stone-cold body around the galaxy in it.”

The Scottish voice snorted. “You’d put me in a tomb. Archaeologist,” he said, managing to make the profession sound like an insult. “Martha, Martha Jones! How are you doing these days?”

“Good,” Martha said, automatically, although ‘good’ was not exactly the word she’d use to describe her morning. “Missy was here in a giant pumpkin.”

“Not so good,” the voice said – and it was the Doctor, Martha knew it, even though the voice wasn’t the one she remembered so well. “Did she blow anything up?”

“Professor Song stopped her. And fixed her TARDIS. And flirted with her.”

The Doctor muttered something under his breath, then cleared his throat. “Well, all that aside, and forgetting the whole ‘borrowing the TARDIS without permission again’ thing, the River who has this number is trustworthy. Mostly.”

“Only the River who has this number?” Martha said, eyeing Professor Song. There was a complicated story here, she was sure. Nothing was ever simple with the Doctor. “And only mostly trustworthy?”

“Mostly trustworthy,” Professor Song said, with a little smile. “That’s a step up.”

“So I should let her leave, not hand her over to UNIT?” Martha asked. She wasn’t entirely sure how she _would_ hand her over to UNIT if that was required, but she’d cross that bridge when she came to it.

The Doctor made a soft sound of dismay. “Please don’t put her in touch with UNIT. She’d take them over within the week.”

“Okay,” Martha said. She knew she should hand the mobile back to Professor Song, but she hadn’t spoken to the Doctor in years now. Even after all this time, a part of her wanted to hang on. She pushed that down, let her professionalism reassert itself. “Take care of yourself, Doctor. And ring me if you need us.”

“Goodbye, Martha Jones,” the Doctor said.

“Goodbye, Doctor,” Martha said, and handed the phone back.

“Thanks, love,” Professor Song told the mobile. “See you later.”

She smiled at Martha, and at Mickey, who’d slipped a supportive arm around Martha’s waist. “Thanks for keeping Missy occupied until the TARDIS got here. She wasn’t _intending_ conquest this time, but you know what she’s like if she gets bored. Glad we headed that off.”

“Take care of him,” Martha said. 

Professor Song’s eyes were soft as she nodded. 

And then she was stepping inside the TARDIS, and the TARDIS was dematerialising, and Martha and Mickey’s back garden was once again just a back garden, with a tabby cat sunning himself on the garden wall. 

“Well,” Mickey said.

Martha leaned her head against his shoulder. “I need coffee.”

“Me too,” Mickey said, devoutly, and they headed inside to start their off day properly.

(A postcard came through the mail slot a week later. It was a selfie of Missy and Professor Song, with a beautiful sunset behind them. A sunset with three suns. Martha bought a pumpkin magnet to pin it to their fridge, and there it stayed.)

***


End file.
